Shadows of Marlene
by sarahslushie711
Summary: Four times Marlene made a difference after her death. T for depth, I guess. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I really own nothing beyond the perception of the characters and the situations they are put in. And even most of that isn't mine.**

**Shadows of Marlene**

I.

"Idiot," he hears, a soft, warm hand pulling his.

Regulus opens his eyes, clenches them shut against the glaring sunlight and attempts a squint. He can't make much out through the thick of his eyelashes, but there is a thin, tall silhouette, sunlight that fades into vibrant yellows and orange-reds, and his eyes meet familiar crystalline blue. Reminiscent of misted ice between flames. He closes his eyes again, violently, quickly, and winces at a sudden thought.

"Am I dead?"

A scoff and a sarcastic reply of, "Now _why_ would you think that?"

Because the last thing he remembers is being dragged into cursed waters by cursed corpses. Because he's certain that a minute ago, all that surrounded him is the feel of clammy, wrinkled skin, the ugly green lighting through murky waters and the monstrous image of empty, pruned faces and flat eyes before all he knew was black. But the kicker is definitely seeing _her_. Because mostly…

"You're dead."

"Don't sound so offended, Reg. Least I thought to take out life insurance."

"I'm sure that's very helpful over here." He opens his eyes fully and waits until his vision adjusts before taking her in. "You look…"

He wants to say peaceful. Content. Can dead people_ be_ content? Better yet, can _Marlene McKinnon_ be content? It seems so, certainly, but with her, appearances can be deceiving. He would know, as he's been an adroit interpreter of Marlene-ism since the age of four, and she isn't giving off that particular aloof vibe, where her eyebrows are stiff and her eyes bite. Curiously, she looks complete, whole and more alive than she's been since childhood. He gives a wry smile at the thought, the idea that she's actually dead, corpse in a grave and Orders of Merlin in her brothers home in the south of France. How she can be that much more whole here, in the afterlife, is beyond him.

"Like I'd kill you if you hadn't managed to beat me to it quite so spectacularly?" she challenges as he stares, and her brows are in her fringe, fringe in lashes, eyes glowing through it all just the way he remembers.

He wrinkles his nose, an old childhood habit he's never managed to shake. Not that it matters anymore, he's _dead_. Not alive, no longer breathing.

"Sorry to inconvenience you," he replies bitterly, sitting up and forcing her off her knees and onto her bottom beside him. "I'll make an attempt at consideration the next time I'm murdered on a quest to end the Dark Lord."

"Idiot," she repeats, exasperation leaking through amusement and sadness. It's an odd concoction on her fine, cool features. "What in the bloody hell possessed you to be so _stupid_-"

"Hmm, donno, was it the evil tyrant who doubles as a psychopathic murdered? No, no, must've been all the deaths I could prevent. Or was it because I was long overdue for a heroic, idiotic adventure? Figured it looked so _fun_-"

She punches him, cuts him off and lets out a choked laugh. He smiles, more of a smirk really, one that's being overcome by simply being beside her again. Seeing her. Hearing her voice and laugh and _feeling_ her- even if it's only a punch.

"You're such a git."

"A dead one, apparently."

Maybe it's not so bad, being dead with Marlene McKinnon.

"Shuddup, Reg."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I really own nothing beyond the perception of the characters and the situations they are put in. And even most of that isn't mine.**

**Shadows of Marlene**

II.

"_Ever wonder what a soul is made of?" _

_Remus looks up from the newest Wolfsbane article, frowning, eyes set with the unmistakeable glow of amusement despite the latest news. No progress in the research._

"_What?"_

_Seeing his incredulous expression, she rolls her eyes, misted ice-blue falling behind thick black lashes and retuning a moment later. She's curled up over her orange striped blanket. A wrinkled package of crisps is propped on the same throw pillow as her elbow. The telly plays out some toothpaste advertisement, with flashing teeth and sunny smiles, and her legs are tucked beneath her. Commercial break, he realizes. Not what Marlene fancies interrupting her Manchester United. _

_She hasn't much choice now but to sit through it, though._

"_Oh, shut up, Lupin."_

"_**I**__ haven't said a word," he points out, trying his hardest to avoid laughing._

"_You were thinking it. Thinking 'oh, Marlene is deep.' Don't- no, do __**not**__ smirk at me. I __**hate**__ your stupid soft smirk. __**Hate**__."_

"_No you don't."_

"_Whatever, just- forget it. Never mind, alright?"_

"_No, it's a great question-"_

"_I said forget it Lupin. Now. Go back to your depressing werewolf research. Don't speak."_

…_._

Remus stares out at the gathering of witches and wizards, all holding bright, flickering candles in an attempt to brighten the dark, gloomy cold of night. It's ice and sorrow that dances along in the wind with every twinkle. Something within him is feeling slightly more empty than yesterday, as if he had lost a little piece of his soul along with Tilly Turpin.

Dementores, his new least favourite word.

"- life full of brilliance, a soul made of goodness, hope and love-"

He tunes Diggle out once more, turns his eyes to the far left and his eyes meet squarely with smouldering grey. Sirius has the hood of his cloak flung off, one hand stuck between Nicki's pale fingers, the other gripping his candle with a white-knuckled grip.

That's right. Turpin had been one of_ those_ witches. One of Padfoot's longer-than-a-week's, as Lily puts it. Actually, Tilly Turpin and Sirius are still mates. Were mates.

Is it were, if she's technically still alive?

Depends if life is measured by breath or soul, he decides. A philosophy which he is in no state to hammer out.

_Ever wonder what a soul is made of?_

It's a whisper, setting the smell of smoke and lilac ghosting through the air and the fuzzy, muted sound of pattering rain and football matches crawling across the empty, hazy front of his mind.

Of course, Remus smiles grimly as everyone else weeps quietly into handkerchiefs and shoulders. Even now, in the midst of the latest tragedy, _she_ still has something to say.

He pushes this new train of thought away, focusing back on what is being said here and now, not years ago on his sofa.

"-the world will never be the same without her warmth to fill it-"

Is that why he feels so empty?

Yes, he thinks as he watches Lily press into James' front.

"-strive to be like her-"

Frank rubs his empty palm over Alice's stiff left arm, and tears cling to her lashes.

"-hope, as she did, that the memory of her kindness-"

No, Remus admits finally. It's not Tilly Turpin's warmth he will miss most. Certainly, she was a lovely witch, with wit in her eyes and the sun in her hair. He'll miss her and her quirky, awkward conversations. The way she could have a laugh at herself and spew on about her latest discovery. But no, it's not blonde and witty he thinks of with every passing moment. It's dark fringed sarcasm.

Marlene McKinnon.

Tilly Turpin.

Dementores.

_Ever wonder what a soul is made of?_

Marlene did wonder. Tilly, on some level, knows. Because- what is it Marlene had once said? You can't miss what you don't have. That's it.

Beside him, the Dearborn family huddles close together, lit candles in between the fingers that aren't intertwined, and Remus sighs at the image.

For a second, his own flame dwindles in the aftermath of his exhalation before it springs back up.

"-Most importantly, we must remember that Tulisa Turpin would want us to live on, fight on. Make her sacrifice worthwhile."

"_Whatever happens, Lupin," Marlene tells him, misted ice-blue burning and glittering against the night of her hair and moon of her skin. "I just want it to count."_

_ "Marlene, that's not-"_

_ "No, shut up and __**listen. to. Me**__," she stresses angrily, fingers gripping his face and forcing his eyes to meet hers again. "Listen to me. This is a war. You signed up, I signed up. We knew the risks, and before I- Morgana, how do I say this? Uch," she pauses, shakes her head, and heavy black fringe brushes against her lashes. Marlene squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and seems to struggle with the words he isn't sure he wants to hear. "Fine. Out with it. Quick and painless…"_

_ He waits a second, but she just stands there, eyes closed tightly. _

_ Remus understands that though he may not want to do this now, it's necessary. _

_ "Before you had less to lose," he finishes for her._

_ Her eyes flash open, the corners of her lips tipping up just slightly, "I hate you sometimes, you know."_

_ Remus tries to fit on a smirk, "So you've told me."_

_ It's a split second of reprieve for the pair of them until a piercing scream rips through the silence._

_ "That's our queue," Remus tells Marlene softly, taking her now fallen hand in his and tugging them towards the storefront. _

_ "Just- one second. I was saying it, might as well finish-"_

_ "That's a new one-"_

_ "Oh, shut. up. Listen, alright?" Marlene takes in a breath before charging on. "I want my choice to mean something for someone, something worthwhile. So- just… oh, forget it. Whatever. Let's go."_

Suddenly, Remus feels as if he's going to be sick. His stomach knots, his insides quake, and even with the cold, he's still perspiring.

Worthwhile.

_Worthwhile_.

He needs to make it worthwhile, that's what she had asked. The memory of that battle, irrelevant really in the face of all the others, is so clear in his mind, it's almost as if he's experiencing it now. It's impossible to ignore, even if he would want to.

Remus stares out over the crowd of witches and wizards gathered, and suddenly understands what this means.

Worthwhile.

They aren't giving their lives, their souls, for the sake of just a brighter future. Nor are they doing it for the sole defeat of Lord Voldemort. No, it's because they know what's worth living for and when that's threatened, worth dying for. It's so simple, it's surprising.

Each other.

Each other and all that entails. What could be, what will be, what was, it's all worth braving death in order to let it live on. A cycle, death giving all they are life, all they are dying to give each other life. A life of light and hope for one another. That's what is worthwhile.

Remus tilts his head down, glances at the flickering flame of his candle.

Order of the Phoenix.

How appropriate.

* * *

A/N- I'm trying to see if this is worth posting, and so far it is. I'm a little shy when it comes to my writing, and this is fairly new to me, on some levels. So, I would greatly appreciate anything you have to say.

It's always been funny to me, how much Remus thinks he knows, and then suddenly, Marlene gives him a whole new level of understanding. Not always is it the right perspective, or one he's ready to hear, but occasionally, there are moments like this. When he needs it, whether he thinks so or not.


	3. 3 Authors note- it contains good news

I promised I wouldn't do this, but here I am, with an Authors note.

Sorry, I really am.

I will be posting in a week, so don't fret. And it will be a great chapter, promise.

Till then, though, I have news.

I have a website! Yes, it's connected to my work, and yes, it is fantastic. I have sneak-peaks, forums, special extra's and information up there. I even posted the start to the next chapter there as a compensation to you all.

It is

So, please do drop by, give it a try, and we'll see how this goes off.

Love you all,

Sarah


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